Zuluhed led all the soldiers of the Dragonmaw Clan to Alterac.
To the old chief, it was nothing more than a wilderness outing, an ordinary picnic, and then moving to a new home.
When the army reached the Arathi Highlands, Uther the Lightbringer led the Order of the Silver Hand to greet them.
"Warchief, congratulations on your resounding victory!"
Uther respectfully presented Alterac's defensive map.
"This is the result of our people's open and aboveboard reconnaissance. Alterac's defenses are completely under control. Haha, Warchief, from now on we are neighbors and need to look out for each other."
If the Dragonmaw Clan conquers Alterac, then it will border the lands of Lordaeron, and the two sides will support and assist each other.
Zuluhed touched his sharp teeth and pointed at the Order of the Silver Hand:
"Uther, what does this mean?"
Uther smiled shyly, "Warchief, please allow me to assist you in conquering Alterac. My men will guide you."
"Would a valiant Orcs need the help of lowly humans?"
Zuluhed looked at Uther and the Paladins behind him with Pride, and laughed contemptuously.
"Noble Orcs would rather die than beg for your help, Uther. Take your pack of Kobolds and go back. Hopefully, you won't wet your pants in fear."
Many Paladins were indignant after hearing this, Uther turned to them and glared at them, and the Paladins became as docile as a flock of lambs.
"Warchief, this is what King Terenas instructed. Please allow us to follow behind the Orcs and admire your valiant fighting."
Zuluhed was initially wary, but given that Uther hadn't brought many men who posed little threat to him, he spoke fiercely.
"Uther, don't say I didn't warn you, your men could be eaten by my minions at any time."
"It is their honor to be eaten by the Orcs." Uther bowed respectfully.
The Dragonmaw Clan set off in a grand procession, and fearing they would be devoured, the Paladins of the Silver Hand kept a considerable distance, which displeased Uther.
"A bunch of useless trash, follow the noble Orcs, the Holy Light protects us."
A few days later, the Dragonmaw Clan entered the lands of Alterac and discovered several watchtowers. They spotted Orcs in the distance, and the Sentinels fled for their lives. They were indeed a group of farmers.
That night, Zuluhed had just fallen asleep when he heard the thunderous sound of war drums coming from outside the camp.
The quick-witted Zuluhed hurriedly got up and led his soldiers to meet the enemy, only to find that there was not a single person in sight.
Not long after, Uther led the Order of the Silver Hand to catch up and joined forces with the Dragonmaw Clan.
What was that war drumming all about? Why did it disturb my rest?
Zuluhed knew perfectly well that it had nothing to do with Uther, but he enjoyed seeing Uther in a difficult position.
Uther's features contorted in distress, and he said, with a wronged expression:
"Your Warchief, we came upon hearing the war drums; I am innocent."
In front of a large group of Paladins, Zuluhed slapped Uther away, then laughed and strode away.
Uther struggled to his feet, his face swollen, and respectfully watched Zuluhed leave.
On the second night, Zuluhed lay down fully clothed when suddenly a battle cry rang out, and the deafening sound of war drums resounded once more.
Zuluhed rose again, grabbed his Battle Axe, rushed out of the tent, and led his soldiers to meet the enemy.
Unfortunately, just like last night, we didn't see a single person.
The Order of the Silver Hand arrived as promised, and the wait was not long.
"Your Excellency, this is a tactic of attrition. Warchief Lord Prestor is a strategist whose aim is to wear down the Orcs; his intentions are despicable."
Zuluhed laughed heartily and said:
"We Orcs grow stronger with each setback; how could we fear mere tactics of attrition? Uther, you underestimate us Orcs."
Uther was also secretly wondering that with Alterac's meager forces, even if the Orcs didn't sleep and were extremely exhausted, wiping them out would be a piece of cake.
The tactic of exhausting the enemy is pointless.
But Uther sensed something was amiss, as if he had overlooked something, and with a fist salute, he offered a suggestion:
"Warchief, please allow us, the Silver Hand, to lead the charge."
"You?"
Zuluhed struck Uther on the neck with his axe, causing blood to gush out and his head to be nearly severed. Uther fell heavily from his horse.
Fortunately, the Power of the Holy Light protected its master in time, preventing Uther from being decapitated.
"The Order of the Silver Hand dare to stand before us, the great Orcs?"
Alterac is not a large land, Zuluhed had already planned ahead; he would arrive at the decisive battleground in two days.
"King Prestor must have already fled. A strategy of attrition, huh."
Zuluhed simply ordered the Orcs to march at full speed, without rest or sleep, determined not to give up until they destroyed Alterac.
The Order of the Silver Hand at a distance, having been repeatedly ambushed by Orcs in recent days. Many Paladins had been captured and eaten by the Orcs, causing their morale to plummet.
The Dragonmaw Clan arrived at the battlefield, the former capital of Alterac, now a ruin filled with rubble.
Zuluhed used Shaman magic to scout and saw a camp next to the ruins, full of ragged farmers.
The scouts' reconnaissance was accurate: they had no armor, their weapons were just wooden sticks, they were eating fairly well, and their faces weren't pale, but unfortunately, they lacked training.
"A mob."
Not far away were continuous snow-capped mountains, and the empty ruins could not hide anyone. Zuluhed was at ease, thinking that he could win with just one Charge.
The Charge cries rang out, and the Dragonmaw Clan launched their all-out attack.
Just as Zuluhed had predicted, upon seeing the Orcs attack, the Alterac soldiers trembled with fear, unable to even hold their wooden sticks steady, and rushed into the ruins without looking back.
"A bunch of fools, this is where you'll all be buried."
The Dragonmaw Clan was in high spirits, and their soldiers roared like wild beasts as they charged into the ruins.
Zuluhed personally led his troops to garrison the area, as was his custom; the chief would never personally risk his life.
Not long after, shouts of battle erupted from the ruins, followed by the pitiful screams of the victims.
Zuluhed smiled; it seemed the children were reaping human lives.
A trusted aide asked hesitantly, "Warchief, this howl sounds wrong; it sounds like one of our Orcs."
"Impossible!"
Zuluhed had great confidence in his soldiers and remained basking in the joy of victory.
A group of surviving soldiers escaped from the ruins; most of them were wounded and their faces were covered in blood.
"Warchief, it's terrible! We've been ambushed! Ogres, countless Ogres!"
"How could there be Ogres in Azeroth?" Zuluhed was stunned and speechless.
"Warchief, the Ogres have attacked! Run! It'll be too late!" his trusted followers shouted urgently.
Countless towering figures burst forth from the ruins— the Ogres. Zuluhed was then jolted awake from his daze.
Zuluhed hastily rallied the remaining troops and, using them as cover, personally led his supervising forces in a retreat.
The Ogres chased after them from behind, but the Orcs were exhausted before they could get very far.
"So this is the reason for our exhaustion tactics. It seems my life is over." Zuluhed roared in resentment.
In his most desperate moment, he saw a golden knightly order rapidly approaching.
"It's the Order of the Silver Hand of Uther."
Zuluhed immediately saw hope.